


devil's plaything

by atinystarlight, yunsans



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Altar Sex, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Alternate Universe - Vampire Slayer, And wears lacy thigh highs, Barebacking, Blasphemy, Body Worship, Bottom Jung Wooyoung, But there's verbal consent, Church Sex, Corruption, Corruption Kink, Crossdressing, First Kiss, First Time, Humiliation, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Multiple Orgasms, No Safeword, Praise Kink, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Religious desecration, Rimming, Top Choi San, Undernegotiated Kinkplay, Vampire Slayer(s), Vampires, Virginity, Wax Play, Wooyoung dresses as a nun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-19 03:03:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29744013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atinystarlight/pseuds/atinystarlight, https://archiveofourown.org/users/yunsans/pseuds/yunsans
Summary: "This is a first—I’ve never had a vampire slayer disguise himself as a nun to try to kill me. I admire the dedication.”“You knew I was a man, yet you still kissed me?”San cocked a sly smile, his sharp fangs glinting like porcelain in the moonlight. “Well, you knew I was a man, too, didn’t you?”—A young vampire hunter finds himself dressed as a nun to lure his target, but unwittingly falls victim to his own desires instead.
Relationships: Choi San/Jung Wooyoung
Comments: 52
Kudos: 177





	devil's plaything

**And in those days shall men seek death, and shall not find it;**

“And forgive us our trespasses...”

Wooyoung knelt before the altar, fingers laced tightly as he recited his prayer. He was adorned head to toe in a nun’s habit—a long black dress kissing his ankles, double-veil secured over his hair. A coif choked at his throat, framing his face on each side, and a rosary dangled from around his neck—a heavy, intricate silver cross, a glaring symbol of false devotion. 

He _was_ devout, but far from a nun. Faith was a vampire hunter’s greatest weapon, after all—greater than silver, hawthorn, or willow wood, though wielding a weapon helped level the playing field. Places of worship were generally safe from vampires, given they could only enter upon invitation, but all it took was one naive Sister to let a fox right into the henhouse. Vampires feasted on purity, and nuns were a delicacy—which was how Wooyoung found himself dressed as one.

In order to infiltrate, Wooyoung had disguised himself as a vestal who’d been marred in a church fire in a town to the north, seeking refuge within a new convent. This was just an alibi, of course—he couldn’t show his face and expect to still pass for a woman. His features were soft for a man’s, admittedly, but not soft enough. A veil spun from white silk draped across his nose, its delicate fabric smooth against his lips, obscuring the bottom half of his face. 

There was silk between his legs, too—a billowing pair of white bloomers over a lace garter belt, creamy stockings running up to his thighs, a concealed silver blade holstered against his skin. It was humiliating, somewhat, but his attire had to be convincing if he had any hope of seducing a powerful vampire to its death. It was a risky plan—some might even call it a fool’s errand—but luring the creature as close as possible was Wooyoung’s only shot at catching it. 

In the weeks before his arrival, three nuns had been killed in various rooms of the cathedral, and since his stay began, three more had been picked off, one in the chapel and two in the vestry. Their deaths had all been marked as ‘mysterious’ or written off as disgraceful suicides by the convent, who hadn’t bothered ordering autopsies. However, such a suspicious pattern was unmistakable to a hunter such as himself—these deaths were the work of a vampire, and a seasoned one at that. He was elusive—a shapeshifter, Wooyoung surmised—and catching him wouldn’t be as straightforward as his usual hunts.

“...As we forgive those who trespass against us…”

Soft rays of moonlight filtered through the stained glass, refracting in a kaleidoscopic glow across the chapel floors. The cathedral was grand and sumptuous, boasting lofted stone walls tapering up to beautiful arches, ribbed vaults growing from a row of columns beside the chapel’s pews. The night air was chilly, almost eerily so, and deathly silent save for his own whispered prayers as he waited for the creature to strike. 

Wooyoung faced the altar, a long table lined in ivory cloth, the elevated stone of the chancel hard beneath his knees. Punctuating each end were floor-length candelabras, gold and ornate, casting a dim incandescence from the flames that danced along their wicks. A long row of variously sized pillar candles flickered just behind the altar, lining the apse, and four more marked each corner of the table. 

“...And lead us not into temptation...”

Wooyoung heard the distinct sound of wings cutting through the air behind him, reverberating off the lofty acoustics of the chapel walls. He blinked his eyes open, keeping his gaze trained forward and his hands clasped in prayer. There was a low thump, then the sharp clacking of heels falling in a slow rhythm towards him down the aisle. 

“...But deliver us from evil…”

“...For thine is the kingdom, and the power and the glory, for ever and ever,” an unfamiliar voice finished from behind, rich and honeyed. “Amen.”

Wooyoung whipped his head over his shoulder, eyes going wide as he scrambled upright. He stumbled backwards into the altar, bumping his lower back against the edge of the table, feigning surprise. 

“Who are you?” Wooyoung gasped, donning an affected, feminine pitch. He’d spent the past two weeks perfecting his fake voice, and though he wasn’t entirely convinced, his constituents were none the wiser.

He was able to get a good view of the man walking towards him, even in the dim lighting. His very presence was foreboding—alluring, yet darkly prophetic, as if announcing his lethal intent as he drew closer. His gait was slow, his heels tapping against the stone in calm, unhurried steps.

He was undoubtedly beautiful, as most vampires were—relying on their seduction to lure unwitting victims. His high cheekbones reflected the moonlight as if carved from stone, though his face wasn’t hollow by any means—it was full, set back by a sharp jaw, framed by his hair falling in delicate blonde waves on either side. He gazed at Wooyoung with striking, feline eyes, which sparkled a dark ruby even from across the room. He was pallid, as if completely bloodless, though his skin glowed warm in the orange candlelight, his lips a deep, charming flush. 

He donned a flowing silk blouse, black as midnight, a deep v-line cut down his chest that exposed his sharp collar bones as well as a dangling silver cross. His shoes echoed against the floor with each footfall of his tall, shin-hugging leather boots, laced tightly in the front over dark, fitted trousers. He wore a friendly smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

"Why can't I see your beautiful face, Sister?" the vampire called, tilting his head.

"A fire… it left me horribly scarred.” Wooyoung grazed his fingers across the silky fabric of his face covering. The man took one step closer, marked by the threatening _clack_ of his heeled boots. “W-what are you doing here?”

“Relax, I’m not going to hurt you. I just wanted to see that pretty face of yours." 

“No, truly…” Wooyoung insisted, hushed voice registering barely at a whisper. “I could never show such a disfigured face.” Heels tapped against the steps, drawing uncomfortably close—and straight into Wooyoung’s trap. “T-tell me who you are.”

“You can call me San, if you wish,” he hummed. “But my name’s not important. I’d rather get to know _you_.” 

Wooyoung stumbled further back into the altar, playing up his carefully conceived show of fear for an audience of one. The table’s edge dug into his skin through his dress. The vampire—San, though Wooyoung didn’t usually care to acquaint himself with the names of his targets—plodded up the steps, drawing even closer.

“Tell me, what’s your name, Sister? I wonder if it’s as lovely as those eyes of yours.”

“W-were you the one who... murdered those nuns?” Wooyoung questioned. He knew the answer, but it would have been against his virtues as a hunter to kill without first confirming the crimes. Not that he needed to—his every instinct pointed to the vampire in front of him as the culprit. 

“Perhaps,” San whispered, his heel making a final _clack_ as he stood before Wooyoung. He was so close Wooyoung could practically feel his breath, even through his silk veil, and Wooyoung’s heartbeat began to pick up. He wasn’t used to such close encounters—most hunts took place from afar, as silver bullets were his weapon of choice, but this vampire was much too elusive for a ranged attack. 

San brushed the back of his palm over Wooyoung’s cheek above the fabric, tilting his head to the right ever so slightly. “Does it matter?”

“A-are you going to… kill me?” Wooyoung stuttered, though he’d be lying if he said some of his fright wasn’t genuine.

“Relax,” he soothed, drawing his eyes with a calm, almost comforting gaze across what little of Wooyoung’s face showed. “I just want to see what’s behind that veil, hm?”

“You—you can’t…”

San’s lips twitched up into an esoteric smile. “You have desires, don’t you, Sister?”

This was what Wooyoung was counting on—for the vampire to prey on him in the same way he had with the other nuns, leading them in with temptations and trickery, luring them close enough to sink his teeth in. Of course, Wooyoung wouldn’t give him the chance to get that far. 

“I’m not sure what you mean,” Wooyoung played along. 

San traced the pads of his fingertips across Wooyoung’s lips over the veil. A chill ripped down Wooyoung’s spine, feeling the ice-cold touch of San’s fingers through the thin silk. He knew vampires were cold creatures with frigid, unbeating hearts, but he’d never gotten close enough to experience it for himself. The blade in his stocking burned against his skin, begging to taste the vampire’s flesh.

“Let me show you what it’s like to let go,” San whispered, closing in until his lips ghosted over the fabric. 

Truthfully, Wooyoung hadn’t planned this far—he’d only planned on luring San in, just enough to slip the knife from his stocking and plunge it through his heart, but now he realized he’d have to go further if he had any chance of slipping it out without arousing suspicion. He was going to have to distract him.

“Let go?” Wooyoung whispered, straining his voice up another octave and batting his eyelashes with as much feminine charm as he could muster. 

San’s sanguine gaze was borderline hypnotic, imploring Wooyoung to surrender himself to his will. Such a look wouldn’t work on a hunter, but he could see how easily it would have been for his victims to give themselves over. It was frightening how much power just a simple gaze could hold.

“That’s right. Let me show you what it’s like to let go of your tenets. Give in, Sister.” San’s hand caressed beneath Wooyoung’s chin, pinching the white silk between his thumb and forefinger as he tipped Wooyoung’s face up to his, pressing their lips together through the fabric. “Let me show you how _good_ it can feel to succumb to your desires.”

“O-okay,” Wooyoung agreed, voice wavering with more than just feigned modesty. This was entirely out of the scope of his normal hunt jobs, but it would only be a kiss. One kiss was all he needed to distract his mark enough to reach for his knife—though he never thought his first would be with a man, and a vampire no less. “Just promise you… you won’t look at my face.”

“I promise,” San breathed, their lips brushing through the thin silk.

Wooyoung reached up, slowly unhooking one side of his veil from around his ear. He’d only have a few moments to reach for his knife, so he’d have to make it convincing. If San pulled away for even a second without his face covering, he’d be caught immediately. 

The minute the veil slipped down, Wooyoung leaned in, pressing his lips to San’s. Goosebumps roused along his forearms the second San’s lips caught his, velvet soft and ice cold against him. San sighed against his lips, pressing deeper, fingertips floating along his cheek. Wooyoung let his eyes flutter closed, reciprocating against San as convincingly as he could, tilting his head slightly to deepen the kiss. 

Wooyoung felt San’s teeth scrape against his lower lip, and a muffled whine slipped out without warning. He could feel San’s lips curl into a smile in response, his tongue swiping across the seam of Wooyoung’s lips, parting them to slide into his mouth. Wooyoung couldn’t help but shiver at the unfamiliar sensation as San’s tongue dragged along the roof of his mouth, not quite sure what to do with his own. 

For a fleeting moment, a part of him almost forgot he was supposed to be reaching for his knife, instead captivated by the way San’s tongue danced against his, practiced and enthralling. It was like nothing he’d ever felt before—nearly addictive, and dangerously so. 

Wooyoung grasped at the bottom of his dress as he snapped back to reality, fingers pinching the hem and dragging upwards, carefully brushing past the white stockings until he felt lace against his knuckles. His fingers curled cautiously around the handle of the dagger as he unsheathed it from the top of the stocking, the intricate cross-shaped silver cold in his touch. 

Wooyoung raised his arm and thrust the knife into San's chest in one swift motion, but a force halted his movement.

Wooyoung’s breath hitched in his chest as San pulled away from their kiss. He flickered his gaze downwards, just enough to see San’s hand gripped tightly around the dagger’s blade, not even centimeters away from striking through his heart. Rich crimson blood poured from his wound, spilling through the seams and dripping to the floor, pooling between their feet.

“I thought it was suspicious when a new face suddenly appeared at the convent,” San mused, using his free hand to unhook the other half of Wooyoung’s silk veil. It fluttered to the ground, staining red as it soaked into the pool of fresh blood. San reached for the double veil on top of Wooyoung’s head, tugging it down until it fell back, slipping off to reveal his hair. 

Wooyoung’s eyes grew wide, voice resuming to his normal tenor, though it wavered with disbelief. “You knew? This whole time, you—”

San shrugged, tilting his head slightly to admire the shocked expression that dawned over Wooyoung’s features, paying little heed to his fresh, still-dripping palm cupped around the sharp edge of the blade. “I had my suspicions. This is a first for me, though—I’ve never had a vampire slayer disguise himself as a nun to try to kill me. I admire the dedication.”

“You knew I was a man, yet you still kissed me?” Wooyoung couldn’t mask the stunned repugnance in his tone.

San cocked a sly smile, his sharp fangs glinting like porcelain in the moonlight. “Well, you knew I was a man, too, didn’t you?”

Wooyoung gritted his teeth. “I was just doing what I had to.” 

It wasn’t a lie—his plan all along had been to lure San into his feminine trap and get him close enough to plunge the blade through his heart. He hadn’t planned on kissing him, but catching a vampire was no simple feat, and he was already too far gone to squander his only opportunity. The part he couldn’t quite wrap his head around was how much he’d liked it. 

“Mhm, of course,” San hummed, hooking his free hand beneath Wooyoung’s black robes to reveal garters clipped to lace. San’s eyes traveled downwards, lingering on his thighs, richly tanned skin contrasted against pure white lace. “I have to say, I’ve never seen a man look so lovely in stockings. So, which family are you from, hm? You hunters sure have a reputation around here.”

A hot blush crept up, dusting his cheeks with embarrassment. “Jung—Wooyoung.” 

He yanked back on the handle of the knife, attempting to slip the blade from San’s grasp, but it felt as though it was sheathed in cement, unmoving even through his forceful tug. San’s fingers slapped around his wrist, squeezing with enough force that his bones felt like they might snap under the pressure. Wooyoung’s hand fell open involuntarily, the dagger slipping from his grasp and clattering to the floor by San’s feet. 

San gave an indecipherable smile. “Ah, how humiliating for a Jung, then.”

San placed his hand at Wooyoung’s jaw, dragging his thumb along the bone. He stopped beneath Wooyoung’s chin, tugging it upwards to meet his gaze, which sparkled a devilish crimson as he admired Wooyoung’s features. His other hand lingered just above Wooyoung's lips, fingers curled delicately into a half-fist, slowly dribbling scarlet blood from the knife’s laceration.

“I’d hate to waste such a pretty face,” San tutted. “Maybe I should make you mine.”

Wooyoung’s eyes grew wide, his hands scrambling to clutch at San’s wrist, whose fingers held his jaw in place as blood snaked down his forearm, threatening to drip poisoned blood onto his lips. He clawed desperately at San’s forearm, attempting to free himself, but San’s grip was like stone.

“No, no—” Wooyoung pleaded, desperation rising in his throat as he thrashed against San’s grip. A hunter’s worst fate imaginable was being turned—it was a worse fate than death, a worse fate than hell itself.

San’s lips curled up into a playful grin, flashing a hint of his fangs as he retreated his hand. “I’m just kidding. But that was adorable.” 

Wooyoung’s eyes followed San’s wound as he pulled it away, awe-struck as the cut healed over seamlessly, leaving fresh, unmarred skin as it stitched itself back together. He removed his thumb from under Wooyoung’s jaw, then pressed his hand down on the table, keeping him caged in. 

San leaned forward, his breath ghosting along the shell of Wooyoung’s ear, inhaling with a soft gasp. “Interesting. You aren’t actually a nun, but… you _are_ a virgin.”

Wooyoung swallowed sharply, San’s cool breath washing over his neck as he traveled downwards, unbuttoning the back of Wooyoung’s white guimpe secured around his shoulders. San discarded it the second it was undone, tossing it to the floor, revealing the lower half of Wooyoung’s neck just above his black dress. 

“You’re a man of faith, I take it?” San probed, lips lingering just a hair’s breadth over Wooyoung’s neck, tip of his nose brushing along the surface.

“O-of course,” Wooyoung stuttered, tensing his fingers against the white tablecloth. “What vampire hunter isn’t?”

“Mm, you’d be surprised. But you…” San inhaled through his nose, then exhaled again, icy against Wooyoung’s skin, prompting another round of goosebumps to freckle his forearms. “...you’re as pure as they come.”

His velvet lips grazed against Wooyoung’s neck, just barely tickling his skin, eliciting a shiver. Wooyoung’s breath felt permanently lodged in his throat, his heart drumming violently in his chest as San drank in his scent. 

“Some say a vampire’s kiss is like an opiate…” San started, pressing his lips down in a slow kiss just below Wooyoung’s jaw. “...and many quite like it.”

His parents instilled at a very young age never to let a vampire bite him, saying that it would cloud his mind, luring him into the depths of lust and sin. His position was absolutely hopeless if he couldn’t get his dagger back—unarmed and trapped alone with a vampire ten times his strength, who surely had no qualms killing the son of a notorious family of hunters. He stood a chance, but only if he could somehow get to the floor to get his knife back. In the meantime, he’d have to bide time, which meant playing along at any cost. 

San pressed his lips down again, mouthing the slowest kisses along Wooyoung’s neck, suckling gently at the skin until it flushed pink. His teeth dragged along the surface, punctuating each kiss with a playful scrape of fangs, enough to make Wooyoung squirm and twitch beneath him. San was going to bite him—there was no way around it.

“It won't hurt, I promise. I adore humans, really—I would never intend to cause any pain,” San murmured beneath his jaw.

“Are you trying to say you’re a—” Wooyoung flinched, breath catching in his throat under San’s touch as a fang danced across his skin, pressing hard enough to produce a dull sting. “—pacifist?” 

San pulled back, tracing his finger along the curve of Wooyoung’s jaw. “Mm, that’s right… I could make you scream, but I’d much rather make you moan.” 

“Vile,” Wooyoung spat through his teeth. 

San tilted his head, feigning innocence. “Is it? Why?”

“It’s…” Wooyoung’s voice trailed off.

“A sin?” San finished. “That’s nonsense, if you ask me. Why shouldn’t people enjoy themselves? Then again, a virgin’s blood is… divine, for lack of a better word.”

“J-just get it over with.”

San’s palm caressed Wooyoung’s cheek, fingertips trailing down his neck as he leaned back in. Wooyoung felt San’s lips tickling his skin first, shivering as the tips of his fangs grazed the surface, his body trembling in anticipation. His fingers clenched against the tablecloth, tensing as he readied for pain.

“Relax,” San soothed at a whisper, curling his fingers around the nape of Wooyoung’s neck, lacing a few cold fingers through the back of his hair, sending a fresh chill rolling down his spine. 

Two sharp fangs dragged along his flesh, pausing for just a moment before they sunk down, piercing through his skin. Wooyoung winced at the harsh sting, which lasted only a brief moment before going numb, the pain ebbing into a dull heat. He steadied his hands on the altar, grasping at the cloth as he squirmed. It felt warm, tingly, like sunlight washing over him, or like liquor trickling down his throat, bathing his entire body in a euphoric glow. 

He could no longer feel the fangs piercing his skin, but he could feel the way San’s fingers tensed in his hair, kneading at the nape of his neck. There was a rumor among those in his profession that virgin blood was intoxicating to a vampire, almost like a drug. If it was true, it might distract San enough for Wooyoung to get his dagger back somehow—he’d just have to get to the floor without being too suspicious. 

San moaned against his neck, a low-toned growl that sent vibrations pulsing through his body. Wooyoung felt himself succumbing to the blissful warmth flooding his veins, reaching every inch of him, seeping down into his fingers and toes. His eyelids drifted shut, letting the high rush through his head, lulling his body further into the realm of pleasure. It was only a few moments before he snapped himself out of it, remembering he couldn’t let the opiate-like trance of a vampire’s bite consume him. 

San pulled back, dragging his tongue along his lips, lapping up the remnants of Wooyoong’s blood. His tongue lingered in the corner of his mouth as his gaze fell to Wooyoung’s face, a lustful gleam glazing over his deep ruby eyes. Wooyoung should have felt the wet sensation of blood trickling down his chest from his bite wound, but he didn’t—it must have healed over, somehow, the same way that San’s wound had stitched itself over before his eyes. 

Wooyoung’s eyes flickered up to San’s, noting their dangerous glimmer, then down to his lips. There was something inexplicably magnetic about him, and Wooyoung found himself leaning in to meet San’s lips. It was part of his plan, of course—keep San distracted, wrapped around his finger while he devised a way to get to his dagger, which sat just below the altar—but there was something else, too, something Wooyoung couldn’t explain, something that had him craving more of San’s touch. It must have been the aphrodisiac effect he’d been warned about.

San caught Wooyoung’s lips in his, and Wooyoung could taste his own blood, bitter and metallic, the scent of iron on San’s breath. His hands traveled up to San’s face, cupping his jaw and pulling him in close, wrapping his legs around San’s torso. San reciprocated, tugging Wooyoung against him, threading one hand through the hair just above the nape of his neck.

Wooyoung let his own tongue slide in this time, and San smirked against his lips, tugging at Wooyoung’s bottom lip with sharp fangs. San’s hands fumbled at Wooyoung’s waist, untying the silky rope belt that cinched in his black robes. The belt slipped off, falling to the floor in the shallow pools of sticky blood next to the silk veil. San moved his hand to the nape of Wooyoung’s neck, sliding it down until he found the row of hook-and-eyes securing his dress in place. He released them one by one until the expanse of Wooyoung’s back was exposed to the brisk air, the fabric draping slightly off his shoulders under its own weight. 

Wooyoung dipped his shoulders down, letting the heavy fabric slip entirely off. It gathered into a thick heap on the floor just beneath the altar, leaving him in only his silk bloomers, which hid the garter belt that kept his stockings from slipping to the floor. He was still wearing his shoes—a glossy pair of Mary Janes—and the rosary dangled from around his neck, the cold metal grazing his bare chest.

San broke their kiss, pulling back to admire Wooyoung’s form, now free of the shapeless black gown. San’s fingertips traced down his thighs with a feather-light touch, tickling the exposed skin between the lace and the hem of his bloomers. His face flushed bright red, unbidden heat rising to his cheeks. He averted his eyes from San’s, which raked over him with a hungry leer, but there was something else, too—reverence, admiration.

Wooyoung’s heart drummed in his chest, and there grew a dull ache inside his bloomers that was hard to ignore. He felt entirely exposed, not only from the lack of clothing, and the way his half-naked body felt in the cool breeze of the heatless chapel, but from the seriousness in San’s eyes, intently memorizing every inch of him. 

“Such a pretty little lamb,” San purred, thumbing his finger along the rosary. “Keep this on.”

Heat pooled in his cheeks and between his legs, making it hard not to squirm as San’s fingertips danced along his thighs, playing with the lace borders of his stockings. Wooyoung was unmistakably aroused, barely able to focus on anything but the prurient way San touched him—it had to have been from the bite, it _had_ to. He couldn’t let his sinful thoughts distract him from his plan to get his weapon back from the floor. 

Wooyoung’s breath hitched in his throat, catching as San trailed his fingers lightly over the bulge hidden beneath Wooyoung’s silk bloomers. “These look so beautiful on you, I almost don’t want to take them off.”

Wooyoung didn’t respond, he only nudged San back by his shoulders, enough so he could slide down to his knees in front of him. It was humiliating, but this would be his only opportunity to get his knife back—he’d only have to distract him enough to reach for the dagger. It was barely two feet away, but reaching for it would be suspicious no matter what. He would have to be convincing, whatever that entailed. 

“Are you going to pray for me, darling?” San cooed, a sinful smirk twitching up on one corner of his mouth. “I do love seeing you on your knees.”

Wooyoung knelt before him, knees sheathed in his stockings as they dug into the floor. The position felt absolutely filthy, now eye-level with the hard bulge in San’s trousers. His own cock was hard, too, mocking him from inside his bloomers. He swallowed, saliva pooling in his mouth at the thought of how San might taste, but he quickly shoved the idea from his mind, focusing on the task at hand. 

He flickered his eyes up to San, who returned his gaze with a fond smile, impish gemstone eyes glimmering with admiration. One hand stroked at Wooyoung’s chin as he leaned in to press his lips to the fabric, mouthing kisses along San’s cock through his trousers. It was revolting—at least, it _should_ have been, but Wooyoung almost found himself wishing to open San’s trousers and run his tongue along his length. 

“That’s it, love,” San murmured, gently stroking a hand through Wooyoung’s dark locks.

Wooyoung glanced up again, batting his eyelashes as he kept his eyes locked on San’s. His right hand crept towards the dagger, inch by inch, until it was almost in his grasp. His palm slid over the cross-shaped handle, carefully curling his fingers around it. 

A hard shoe met the top of his hand, crushing his fingers to the floor. San’s foot dug down, grinding with the flat heel of his boot, and Wooyoung let out a cry of pain, echoing uselessly off the stone walls of the chapel. 

San clicked his tongue to his teeth in mocking disapproval. “You’re so cute. Hm, you really are a Jung.”

San lifted his heel just slightly, enough for Wooyoung to yank his hand away with a sharp hiss through his teeth. The toe of San’s boot kissed the edge of the blade, toying with it beneath his foot before kicking it away. Despair sank in Wooyoung’s stomach as he watched it skid across the floor, bumping into the far leg of the altar and knocking underneath the table. 

He was helpless now, disarmed and backed into a corner. He knew the plan was risky going in, but he hadn’t actually accepted the possibility of failure. All Wooyoung had to do was get him close enough to stab the dagger through his heart—he had no clue San had been two steps ahead the whole time. His only chance had very literally slipped from his fingertips, which throbbed and ached where San had crushed them. Even if he could somehow maneuver his way to the blade again, San would be on his guard even more than before.

He scrambled to his feet, foolishly trying to get away, but San caged him against the altar with both arms, cementing Wooyoung’s fate in stone—San was going to kill him.

“That’s a shame,” San hummed with condescending sympathy. “Though, I have to say—you’re adorable when you’re scared.”

Wooyoung did everything he could to fight the panic creeping up in his chest, flooding through his limbs and lighting his chest on fire. His legs were screaming at him to run, but he couldn’t, caged against the altar by San’s immovable hands. 

San leaned in closer, enough for his breath to wash over Wooyoung’s lips, caressing his palm across his cheek and sliding downwards until his fingertips rested against his neck. “Your heart’s beating fast.”

Wooyoung swallowed thickly, throat bobbing against San’s fingers. “I’m not afraid to die.”

“Then… what are you afraid of?” San whispered, running his hand down to the dip of Wooyoung’s collarbone, brushing his fingers across it. 

Wooyoung’s words caught in his throat, thick and sticky like his saliva, unable to speak. His body froze beneath San’s touch as he leaned in, dragging his soft lips against the shell of Wooyoung’s ear. Wooyoung was breathing fast, his own blood thrumming loudly in his ears.

“Why is it you’re so frightened? You can tell me,” San murmured like a lover in his ear, grazing his fingertips gently across his collarbone, swirling in delicate circles. Wooyoung’s didn’t move an inch, though his body trembled involuntarily. “Is it that you feel betrayed by your own flesh? Your desires?”

San’s fingertips trailed down Wooyoung’s bare chest, past the dangling rosary, tracing down his stomach. Wooyoung shivered at the touch, breaths coming out fast and shallow.

“Think about it—when was the last time you did something without being told?” San continued.

Wooyoung stared at him, their faces barely inches apart. His eyes fell to San’s lips of their own accord, flushed pink and lustrous, inviting him in. Wooyoung didn’t have an answer.

“...Never? I figured as much.” 

“You’re trying to tempt me,” Wooyoung uttered.

“Watch and pray so that you will not fall into temptation,” San whispered, voice low and unhallowed. “The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak. You’re weak, love. I’m only showing you mercy. I’m going to kill you either way—I’d hate to do so without offering to please you first.”

“...Please me?”

San’s fingers swirled along Wooyoung’s waist, wandering aimlessly across his skin, muscles jumping involuntarily under his touch. “You liked the way it felt when I drank from you, didn’t you? I can make you feel so much more, all you have to do is ask.”

Wooyoung could feel his body leaning into San’s touch without his control. San was alluring, magnetic—drawing him in effortlessly. Wooyoung craved his touch, craved the way San’s hands explored his body, reading every inch of him like scripture. Wooyoung was merely acting before, using his body as a tool to execute his plan, but it felt entirely different now. 

“No… You did this to me, a—a vampire's kiss is…” _An opiate. A tool of seduction—dark magic._

“My kiss had nothing to do with it,” San revealed, flashing a gentle smile. “That’s only a myth, I never said it was true.”

“A… myth? No, t-that can’t—when you drank from me, it felt…” _Like a drug._

“It’s only an anaesthetic. You didn’t feel any pain, correct?”

Wooyoung shook his head, eyes widening. “That’s… that’s impossible.”

If San didn’t do anything to him, then that meant he—

Cool fingers pressed into his waist. “You can make any excuse you want—the desire is all yours, love.”

“The… desire?” _His_ desire?

San’s words sank his heart like lead. Everything about it felt wrong, from the way he drew Wooyoung closer, to the way San’s smile made him want to lean in again, feeling those soft lips against his. Everything about his touch was enticing—intoxicating, even—and Wooyoung couldn’t help but feel truly _wanted_ in his arms, in the way San’s eyes drank in his body, admiring every inch as though it were the finest work of art, the most intricate pane of stained glass. 

San’s voice was a quiet breath against his ear. “I’m all yours for the night, if you’ll have me. You’re the one on the altar—won’t you let me worship you?” 

San curled his fingers around Wooyoung’s left forearm, then leaned down, mouthing slow, delicate kisses down his wrist all the way to his palm. He turned Wooyoung’s hand over, placing a gentle kiss against the purity ring slipped over Wooyoung’s ring finger. 

“Y-You like to play with your food, is that what you’re saying?” Wooyoung stuttered, unable to tear his eyes away from San’s lips, still pressed firmly against Wooyoung’s ring. It was entirely unholy—Wooyoung displayed for San like this against the altar, exposed in nothing but silky white bloomers and creamy lace stockings.

San pulled his lips back, dragging his hooded gaze upwards, watching Wooyoung’s face through wispy lashes, incarnadine irises glinting in the candlelight. “You could put it that way. I prefer… _savoring_ it. Especially someone as stunning as you.”

Wooyoung wasn’t sure what it was, but there was a strange authenticity in that menacing gaze, as if he had a genuine desire to worship Wooyoung from head to toe. Wooyoung had never felt like this before—truly and completely _wanted_ —and he’d be damned if it didn’t feel incredible. It felt utterly blasphemous to be worshipped on an altar of Christ, but he couldn’t help the warmth that flooded his body and the strange, intoxicating high thrumming in his veins from the way San was looking at him.

“...But if a quick death is what you want, then I promise to show mercy. It’s your choice,” San murmured against Wooyoung’s hand, glancing up at him with almost kind eyes, ones that made Wooyoung question everything he’d ever known.

For a moment, San nearly seemed like an angel, the warm candlelight dancing on his fair skin, his cold lips pressing against Wooyoung’s ring. What was it that Wooyoung wanted? His whole life was built on tradition, following in the footsteps of his family, who’d been notorious vampire hunters for generation upon generation—and for what? What did Wooyoung gain from it?

...What did he _want?_

Wooyoung’s heart pounded hard in his chest as he threaded his fingers in San’s hair, pulling him in for a desperate, hungry kiss. San sighed against his lips, digging his cold fingers into Wooyoung’s waist, reciprocating the kiss with enthusiasm. He teased the tip of his tongue along the seam of Wooyoung’s lips, and Wooyoung parted them, licking into San’s mouth as San had done to him before. 

Wooyoung gave a soft whine, snaking his arms around San’s shoulders to pull their bodies flush, his legs wrapping around San’s waist, the fabric of his trousers brushing against the smooth silk of Wooyoung’s bloomers. Wooyoung gripped at his blouse, tilting his head to slide his tongue even deeper, tasting the iron of his own blood from San’s mouth. 

It felt amazing to let go—to give himself to San’s touch, to let San lick into his mouth and suck his tongue, pulling the breath from his lungs until he was left panting and begging for more. It was more intimate than anything he’d ever done, more personal than any human touch he’d ever experienced, and he craved the way it made him fall apart. It was entirely wrong, yet he couldn’t pull away—he wanted to feel him, to _be_ felt, and to let San worship him to his heart’s content—to hell with everything else. 

His tongue scraped over one of San’s fangs, a soft moan escaping his lips as he felt its sharp edge, and San tightened his grip on his waist, a low growl rumbling from his throat as he squeezed his fingers against Wooyoung’s skin. It was a hungry sound, one that showed Wooyoung just how badly San wanted him, and that alone was enough to make Wooyoung melt in his hands. 

They parted for a moment, just enough for San’s lips to ghost over his as he spoke. “Is this your choice, love?”

“Yes,” Wooyoung breathed, dragging his fingertips across San’s cheeks, feeling the sharp cut of his cheekbones, and the inhuman smoothness of his skin. 

“Good,” San whispered through a sinuous grin. “Because I want to taste...” San planted a kiss against Wooyoung’s jaw. “...every...” A kiss on his neck, slow and lingering. “...inch of you.” 

San mouthed kisses downwards, pausing at Wooyoung’s collarbones, savoring him like a fine wine. His lips trailed down Wooyoung’s chest, planting slow, deliberate kisses over each nipple, then down his sternum. He caressed the rosary between his fingers, pressing his lips against it with fluttering lashes as he worked his way down Wooyoung’s stomach, sucking lightly over each hip bone. 

San’s fingertips danced over what remained of Wooyoung’s clothing, stroking delicately at Wooyoung’s thighs just above the lace hems of his stockings. They dipped beneath the band of his bloomers, slipping them down his legs until they pooled at his ankles. San guided Wooyoung up with a firm grasp on the back of his thighs, prompting him to sit fully onto the altar. His bare skin kissed the silk tablecloth as he settled down over the covered table, cool and slippery beneath him. 

San sank to his knees before him, tugging the bloomers off from his ankles. It felt absolutely filthy, the way he was displayed on the altar—fully hard, unable to conceal his arousal to San now. As humiliating as it was, he couldn’t help but tear his eyes away from San’s captivating vermillion stare.

He pressed feather-light kisses to the inside of Wooyoung’s thighs over his stockings. Wooyoung’s hips twisted under his torturously gentle touch as San cupped a foot in each hand, slipping his Mary Janes off one by one, setting them gingerly to the side. It felt almost ritualistic, the way San worshipped every inch of him with careful precision. 

San leaned farther up, pinching the clasps of the garters to unclip the stockings. San’s face was so close that Wooyoung could feel his cool breath against his cock, causing it to twitch involuntarily. Everything about San’s worship felt impure—the devilish gleam in his eyes, hooded and lustful as they raked over Wooyoung’s exposed body, though his touch was soft, as if Wooyoung might shatter. His hands slid to the underside of Wooyoung’s thighs, unclipping the back until the stockings were loose, slipping down a few centimeters on their own. 

San’s mouth fell back over the fabric, planting kisses until his teeth hooked into the intricate white lace at the top, a subtle glint of fangs reflecting in the candlelight. Wooyoung’s breath hitched in his throat, goosebumps rising on his skin at the scrape of San’s fangs as they tugged the stocking down his thigh. San slid the rest down with his hands, pressing soft lips against his calves as soon as the skin was exposed—truly worshipping every inch of him, as he’d promised. 

He folded the stocking carefully, draping it over the Mary Janes, then got to work on the other stocking. Wooyoung’s head spun, disconnected from reality as he watched, captivated by San’s devoted veneration, very literally worshipping Wooyoung on his knees as he sat on the altar. It was sinful, unholy, completely sacrilegious—and yet it sent chills down his spine, lighting his every nerve on fire. 

San placed the other stocking on the floor, then moved back between his legs, mouthing kisses along his shin, holding Wooyoung’s legs still as he squirmed. His touch was overwhelmingly gentle, as if he were holding his most intimate lover—not his prey, not a hunter who’d lured him into a trap. Wooyoung had never even thought it possible for a vampire to show such care, let alone kneel before a human. 

He traveled up, kissing past the inside of Wooyoung’s thighs, his breath ghosting over Wooyoung’s cock, dangerously close, but not daring to connect his lips with it yet. Instead, his hands cupped around Wooyoung’s hips, guiding him back off the table until his heels connected with the cold stone floor. He hooked his fingers in the top band of the lace garter belt, and a whimper escaped Wooyoung’s lips as it slid down over his twitching cock, shifting on his heels as San slipped it all the way down to his feet, prompting him to step out of it. 

He realized how vulnerable his position felt. He was completely naked, save for the rosary around his neck, and he stood meekly, unable to meet San’s intense stare with any sort of confidence. There were a few moments of silence, San’s gaze cruising his naked figure with unnerving thoroughness. 

Finally, San took Wooyoung’s left hand, planting a soft kiss to the cold silver of his purity ring. It felt filthy to be standing before him, naked, with San still fully clothed—and yet he couldn’t deny the warmth that rose in his entire body, the way his skin lit on fire with a blissful heat that had nothing to do with how mortifying his position was. He’d never felt so _wanted_ in his entire life. 

“Look at you,” San breathed, exhaling with a sigh of awe against the back of Wooyoung’s hand. “You deserve to be worshiped.” 

San brushed his thumb over the back of Wooyoung’s hand, admiring him as if he were his very own lover. Wooyoung glanced down, meeting his gaze. There was something indescribably captivating about San—his allure so much more than just the seductive nature of a vampire. He couldn’t help but reach forward with his free hand, grazing his fingers across San’s cheek, carefully, as if he were an untouchable statue. 

San’s eyes drifted shut, tilting his head slightly until his lips brushed against Wooyoung’s right palm, using his own free hand to curl around Wooyoung’s wrist as he placed a gentle kiss in the center of his hand. His eyelids fluttered open, glancing up at Wooyoung through wispy lashes. He looked ethereal in the soft glow of the candlelight—spellbinding, even—and Wooyoung was unable to pull his gaze away, almost forgetting for a moment that he was standing completely naked in front of him.

San pulled himself up from his knees, pinching Wooyoung’s chin gently between his thumb and forefinger, then leaned in to give him a chaste kiss. 

“Lie down,” San breathed against his lips. 

Wooyoung obeyed, sliding back onto the altar and lying lengthwise across it. The table itself was long enough that he could lay down fully without hitting the edge, the four candles dotting each corner far enough away he wasn’t worried about knocking them. The silk tablecloth was cool against his back, though his skin still pulsed with heat. From this angle, he could make out the moonlight filtering through the stained glass windows, filling the room with a dull rainbow glow. He wondered if this would be his deathbed—such a beautiful cathedral wouldn’t be the worst place to die, he supposed. 

He didn’t have too long to linger on it before San’s fingers snapped him back to reality, trailing across his body, moving downwards from his chest and grazing along his hip. He glanced at San’s face, his eyes a dangerous crimson in the candlelight. Yet, somehow, Wooyoung wasn’t scared at all—not for his life, which he knew San would undoubtedly take. Instead, he was entranced, enraptured within his own desire, bewitched by those beautiful, blood-red eyes. 

“What are—” 

San pressed a finger to his lips, shushing him softly. “Relax, little lamb. I’m not finished with my prayer.”

He leaned over, positioning his lips just below Wooyoung’s navel, lapping at the skin with his tongue, then dragging upwards in one long, continuous stripe up his stomach. His eyes were hooded, glazed over with incendiary lust. Wooyoung watched, mesmerized, as San reached the top of his sternum, punctuating it with a coy flick of his tongue. Of all the ungodly acts of the night, this was by far the most sinful, and Wooyoung’s cock leaked against his stomach, a droplet of precome dripping down the head.

“Oh, god…” Wooyoung breathed, half in awe and half pleasure. 

San leaned in, whispering against the shell of his ear as he spoke. “We don’t say the Lord’s name in vain, darling.”

Wooyoung wasn’t sure if it was the chilly midnight air against his naked figure, or San’s cold breath against his ear, but a shiver rolled through his body, sending chills creeping across his skin. His eyes drifted shut, his breath shallow under San’s touch. 

“I haven’t even gotten started yet,” San murmured between slow kisses, working his way back down towards Wooyoung’s hips. “Didn’t I tell you I wanted to taste every inch of you?” 

Wooyoung squirmed beneath San’s lips as his cock twitched, still untouched. It hadn’t been long since San had started undressing him, but it already felt like an eternity of waiting. He didn’t have a shred of virtue left, it seemed.

“How does it feel?” San asked, absently trailing his fingers in circles as he pressed slow kisses down the surface of his skin. 

“W-what?” 

“Being worshiped, succumbing to temptation… making your own choices. How does it feel?”

Wooyoung’s breath caught in his throat. “I—I…”

“I’d be happy to act out your desires. Anything you wish—all you have to do is ask.”

“M-my…” ... _Desires?_ Did he have his own desires? What was it he wanted? He’d never been given choices before—only instructions, rules to follow. “I want…” 

San leaned over him, brushing his thumb across Wooyoung’s lower lip. His voice was dripping with honey, smooth and sweet, in stark contrast to the hungry way his gaze raked across Wooyoung’s body. “Tell me what you want, lamb.”

Wooyoung lifted his left hand to San’s face, tracing his fingertips along San’s cheek, and San curled his fingers around his wrist in return, leaning in slightly as he awaited an answer. 

“You,” Wooyoung whispered finally, so low that his voice was barely even audible to his own ears.

San’s lips danced up into a grin, his fangs reflecting the orange glow of the candle light. There was a darkness hidden in his smile, one Wooyoung couldn’t quite place, though his eyes portrayed sincerity—almost kindness, if such a thing was possible from a vampire who’d already written out Wooyoung’s fate out in no uncertain terms. 

San placed another tender kiss against Wooyoung’s ring—defiling his symbol of his purity, a symbol he betrayed the second he gave in to his own temptations. “Then I’m yours.” 

Wooyoung couldn’t help but let free a whimper as San curled his fingers around Wooyoung’s cock, finally, _finally_ giving him some form of relief, pressing his thumb below the head to rub with just enough pressure to have Wooyoung squirming beneath him.

“Ah—” Wooyoung gasped, clawing at the tablecloth in a desperate attempt to ground himself. It was humiliating how the smallest touch had him coming apart so easily. 

San leaned over him, bringing his lips so close to Wooyoung’s cock that he could feel his ice-cold breath, sending tense shivers down his thighs as San placed his first kiss at the base of his shaft, then slowly worked his way up. With each kiss, Wooyoung squirmed more, unable to contain the breathy whines tumbling out from his lips. San’s tongue met the head, dragging lightly over the tip, lapping away the leaking droplets of precome.

“Fuck,” Wooyoung whimpered, shallow breath hitching in his throat. His back began to curve off the table, hips twisting as they arched up against San’s tongue. 

“Ooh, such a filthy word,” San teased, planting another kiss against the tip, his lips curling up at the edges. Wooyoung caught a sinister flash of fangs as San glanced up. “I want to make you say it again.”

San’s fingers curled tightly around Wooyoung’s dick, wrapping his lips around the head. He gave a squeeze as he sucked around the tip, swirling with his tongue, dipping into the slit. 

Wooyoung’s head spun, and he clutched harder at the tablecloth, twisting the fabric as he fisted it, desperately grabbing hold of anything to keep him grounded. His hips bucked upwards involuntarily into San’s mouth. “F-fuck, San—”

San gave a satisfied moan around him, sending a dizzying vibration down Wooyoung’s shaft. He pulled away, meeting Wooyoung’s eyes. “That’s it, love—let me hear you.”

San curled his lips back around him, keeping his tongue firmly pushed against the underside of Wooyoung’s cock as he sank all the way to the base. His eyelashes fluttered as he glanced up at Wooyoung with a beguiling crimson stare, maintaining eye contact as he sucked back upwards, his lips tightly sealed around the shaft. Wooyoung tipped his chin up, letting his head fall back against the table. 

His lips parted, letting out an unrestrained moan as San dipped back down, squeezing and twisting his hand at the base to form a slow, torturous rhythm. “Oh, god— _fuck_ , San—”

San’s lips released from their tight, suctioned grip around the head. Wooyoung watched, entranced as San drew his tongue over his lips, then across his fangs, gleaming dangerously beneath his smile. “Beautiful. You sound almost as good as you taste.”

San’s hands came to Wooyoung’s thighs, giving a gentle squeeze before applying enough pressure to guide his legs apart. 

Wooyoung opened without resistance, craving more, though he didn’t know what to expect with San placed his own forefinger between his parted lips, sucking until it was slick with saliva. His hand moved between Wooyoung’s legs, dragging along his thighs until his cool finger brushed against his entrance. It felt good—almost too good, and Wooyoung squirmed, knees closing on instinct around San’s icy touch, both foreign and startling. 

San gave a soft smile, leaning down to place slow, soothing kisses along Wooyoung’s stomach. “You can trust me, I’m not going to hurt you.” 

His hands traveled back to Wooyoung’s thighs, nudging to prompt his legs open again. He grasped desperately at the tablecloth, slippery silk sliding between his fingers. Wooyoung’s teeth clamped down on his lip, bracing himself as San repositioned his cold finger at his entrance. San’s free hand reached out to take his, lifting it away from the table. He cupped Wooyoung’s hand delicately in his own, pressing a deep kiss to Wooyoung’s palm as he eased his finger all the way in.

San’s looked over him, his eyes darkening with a hungrier edge as he sunk his finger all the way to the knuckle. Wooyoung let out a small whimper, tipping his head back against the table and letting his eyes drift shut.

Wooyoung’s fingers curled as he felt San’s fang drag across the sensitive skin of his palm, cocking a smile as Wooyoung bit back a whine that threatened to escape. He felt filthy to the core as San’s finger pushed all the way inside him, his body splayed out naked on the altar in an unsanctified, unholy display. 

“That’s it, love. Just relax,” San cooed. His voice was rich, laced with a honeyed sweetness as though soothing a lover. 

San slipped his finger out, then slowly pushed back in, pumping into him in long, careful drags. His other hand curled around the base of Wooyoung’s cock, lips mouthing languid kisses up the shaft until they reached the head. San’s lips parted to take Wooyoung back into his mouth, sinking down with one deliberate motion. A moan escaped Wooyoung’s lips, his back arching off the altar as tension built in his core. His hand moved away from the table, instinctively hovering over San’s head.

San sank down over Wooyoung’s cock as he pressed his finger in, hollowing his cheeks as he sucked back up the shaft, syncing his rhythm perfectly with his finger, easing it out at the same time. Wooyoung’s hand came to rest over San’s hair, threading his fingers through his soft blonde locks. The foreign sting faded in favor of pleasure as San’s mouth worked up and down his shaft, matching the pace of his hand. 

San pulled off Wooyoung’s cock, giving the head a final hard suck before releasing. He slipped his finger out at the same time, and Wooyoung cracked his eyes open in time to watch San slip two fingers through his parted lips, including the finger that had just been inside him, cracking an almost unnoticeable smile as he closed his lips around them.

It was absolutely filthy, watching him enthusiastically suck the finger that had just been doing unspeakable things inside of him, but there was something indescribably captivating about it, so much so that he struggled to tear his eyes away. 

He pulled them out of his mouth, slick and lustrous with a thick coating of saliva, then moved back down over Wooyoung’s cock, laving his tongue up the underside from base to tip as two fingers prodded at his entrance, encouraging Wooyoung to part his legs just a bit further. San swirled his fingers around the hole before pressing in, sliding the two wetted fingers inside of him. 

The sting was undeniable, and a hiss threatened to slip through his teeth, but the pain was quickly replaced by the dizzying sensation of San sinking all the way down over him, lips connecting with the base as the tip of his cock slid against the back of San’s throat. San’s eyelashes fluttered as he glanced up, and Wooyoung could feel his gaze like a hot flame against his skin. He sucked back up the shaft, closing his lips in a tight seal as he twisted and pumped his fingers, opening him up with a careful, gradually building rhythm.

“Fuck,” Wooyoung gritted, the curse foreign to his ears as though his voice was not his own, airy and desperate, spitting filth like a sailor.

San began to pump his fist, his lips meeting his hand as he bobbed his head, his other hand curling and prodding inside of him until the sharp sting turned to a toe-curling, intoxicating warmth. The noise that reverberated from Wooyoung’s chest and against the lofted walls of the church was like none he’d ever made before, and he was powerless to keep himself quiet under San’s touch. 

His body was on fire, sweat beginning to bead along his hairline, against his neck, inside his palms, his cock leaking into San’s mouth as he sucked the virtue right from his body. San sank all the way down to the base and held himself there, his fingers curling inside him in such a way that Wooyoung couldn’t keep still. His hips moved of their own accord to push down against San’s hand, tightening his hold in San’s hair to keep himself sane. 

“Fuck, San—ah, _fuck_ —” profanities flew freely from his lips in a way they never had before, overwhelmed with sensations he never thought possible. He knew how utterly wrong it was, but he felt himself caring less and less each time San would push his fingers further inside, or take more of Wooyoung’s cock until it nudged the back of his throat. 

San pulled off with a gratified moan, lips curling into a smile as he sucked at the tip on his way up. His fingers slipped out, and Wooyoung let out a small whine of disappointment, feeling empty without them. San planted a gentle kiss against Wooyoung’s hip bone, peering up at him from his immodest angle.

“How do you feel?” San purred. 

“I… I want more,” Wooyoung panted, his heart pounding in a fierce rhythm against the quiet of the chapel. 

“Oh? What about the pretty little ring on your finger?” A smirk teased at San’s lips, one side rising higher than the other. 

Wooyoung met San’s hungry gaze with an even hungrier one of his own. “Fuck the ring.” 

San placed three fingers in his mouth, wetting them with his tongue, then slid his hand back between Wooyoung’s legs. “That’s more like it, love.”

San pushed three fingers inside him as he dragged the flat of his tongue over the head of Wooyoung’s cock, his sharp fangs dangerously close yet careful not to touch. Wooyoung’s head thumped back against the altar as a shameless moan left his lips, one hand pulling at San’s hair, the other curling into the altar cloth. The stretch of San’s fingers didn’t even hurt—no, it did, a little—but he _liked_ it. He felt this full already with just his fingers, and his mouth started to water at just how full San could make him feel. 

He rolled his hips down onto San’s hand, beckoning him deeper, trying to feel him all the way to his very core. San pressed in further, letting his fingers sink as deep as they could possibly go. It was never enough—he wanted more, more, _more_. 

“Greedy little thing,” San commented, voice lilting with amusement. His hooded eyes flashed devilishly. “That’s a sin, too, as I’m sure you know.”

“San, please—” Wooyoung’s hips rocked down onto San’s hand like he’d been possessed. San kept his hand still, keeping his lecherous stare locked on Wooyoung’s as he squirmed, desperately attempting to chase the high that San had let him taste. San gave his fingers a teasing press, and Wooyoung gave a desperate moan as his hands clutched the cloth under him like a lifeline. 

“Close your eyes,” San whispered.

Wooyoung obeyed, squeezing his eyes shut as San’s fingers trailed along his skin for a moment before the touch disappeared. San’s hand was unmoving between his legs, and Wooyoung almost cracked his eyes open in confusion before a sudden, searing heat against his sternum made him cry out. He looked up to see San holding a candle delicately between his fingers, the flame stuttering over the wick as he tipped it just enough to spill a few drops of ivory wax onto his skin. 

Wooyoung flinched, his teeth sinking into his lower lip as it burned a dribbling trail across his chest, hardening into a pale streak across his tanned skin. It cooled quickly, the wax turning opaque as the burn died away.

“Mm, looks a bit sinful… if you think about it,” San hummed.

Wooyoung’s skin was hot before, but now it felt scorching, festering with arousal that only grew as the wax dripped over him. Wooyoung cried out through his teeth as another droplet fell just beside one of his nipples, his cock twitching against his stomach in response, precome leaking from the tip and smearing onto his skin. 

“Let me teach you something,” San purred, twisting the candle in his fingertips, the molten wax at the top circling beneath the flame, threatening to spill over. “Sometimes, pleasure can be amplified when there’s a little pain to go with it. See?”

San tipped the candle enough for another drop of liquid wax to dribble out from the concave tip, and Wooyoung gasped, the muscles of his abdomen jumping at the sensation. It burned the moment it hit his skin, but the raw, tingling feeling it left as it cooled had Wooyoung shivering, craving more. San began to pump his fingers again, rocking his hand in slow drags, feeling the inside of his body with every stroke. 

San glanced up at Wooyoung, lips curling into a warm smile. “Keep your eyes closed, darling.”

Wooyoung obeyed, letting his eyes fall shut again as San trailed his fingers across his chest with a featherlight touch. He felt the heat of the flame near his skin where San held the candle between his thumb and forefinger, but San only grazed his hand across the skin with his bottom few fingers, leaving chills in their wake. Wooyoung did his best to contain his whines as San teased his fingers over his stomach, moving upwards to circle his nipples, then danced them across his collarbone. 

Wooyoung braced beneath him, anticipation building in his core. A drop of wax spilled over onto his collarbone, making him squirm, squeezing his eyelids tighter as it trickled down and cooled against his skin. His cock twitched against his stomach, leaking as San’s hand pumped between his legs, arching inside of him until he was nothing but a whining mess.

“That’s it,” San praised, tickling his fingertips down Wooyoung’s waist. 

Wooyoung’s skin was on fire with anxious anticipation, writhing beneath San’s torturously light touch. He had Wooyoung’s mind spinning, unable to predict exactly when he’d tip the candle, delivering the harsh, addicting splash of heat. He punctuated each drop of wax with a deep, gentle press of his lips against his searing skin, peppering kisses all over his torso. 

San kept his fingers pulsing in and out in a steady rhythm, crooking and twisting inside of him, pulling him closer to the edge, sapping away his sanity with every thrust. Wooyoung’s cock twitched against his stomach, his mind barely grounded in reality as San’s words brought him back. 

“Look at me.”

He shuttered his eyes open, and San pushed his fingers in deeper, sending Wooyoung’s head tipping back, a moan falling from his lips. “Oh, god, please—”

San’s lips twisted into a smile of dark amusement. “You’re praying to the wrong person, darling.”

Wooyoung’s back arched and his toes curled, whimpering as San spilled more stinging wax across his skin, lower, this time—landing right over the raise of his hipbone, a sensitive place that had Wooyoung trembling beneath him. He couldn’t take it anymore—his body was shaking, _begging_ for release, so close he could almost taste it.

“San—” Wooyoung begged, reaching out to grip the silken fabric of San’s blouse. San pushed his fingers in to the knuckle, earning a filthy whine from Wooyoung’s throat. 

“It’s not often I find myself so captivated by a human,” San mused. “But you, lamb, are just… _bewitching_. It makes me want to spoil you.” San leaned down to brush his lips against Wooyoung’s ribs, the ticklish sensation making him shiver. 

“Would you like for me to spoil you? To make you feel things you’ve never felt before?” He planted gentle kisses just above Wooyoung’s navel, and up along the rises of his abdomen. “I’ve been around a while. I know exactly—” _kiss_. “How—” _kiss_. “to make you come apart.” 

As if to prove his point, San crooked his fingers, dragging them at an angle that had Wooyoung crying out and clutching at San’s blouse, his cock oozing against his stomach. 

As he did so, he tipped the candle, letting wax dribble onto the sensitive skin over his other hip bone. San leaned over him, laving his tongue across his nipple. Wooyoung squirmed beneath him as he sealed his lips around it, suckling gently. The sensations compounded in a dizzying combination—the intense fullness of his fingers, the searing heat of the wax, San’s tongue swirling around his nipples until Wooyoung was practically convulsing. San wasn’t even touching his cock, yet he felt release growing inside of him, filling him to the brim and threatening to spill over. 

“Oh, San, please—” 

He cut himself off with a whine as San’s fingers worked faster, thrusting into him with a fervor that had warmth seeping into his toes and down to his fingertips, his lips falling open with unbidden whines as the pleasure grew stronger, consuming him until his mind was numb to anything else. 

“Such beautiful sounds. Come for me, love.” 

San tipped the candle once more, drizzling hot wax down the inside of his thigh, and the release building in his core snapped like a thread, tipping him over the edge with a profane cry.

His entire body tensed, his cock flexing as he spilled onto his stomach, untouched, San’s fingers milking his orgasm for every last drop as he murmured praises into Wooyoung’s ringing ears. Spent, Wooyoung collapsed against the altar, his chest heaving with labored breath, the cool chapel air tingling against his sweat-glazed skin.

San gently pulled his fingers out, leaving Wooyoung feeling hollow. He dangled the candle playfully over Wooyoung’s other thigh, tipping it just enough for it not to spill, and Wooyoung flinched in anticipation, much too oversensitive from his climax. San merely chuckled and set it aside, placing a kiss to Wooyoung’s inner thigh instead. Wooyoung squirmed even at the lightest touch, his whole body still reeling from its high. 

“How… shameful.” His fond smile harbored a darker edge as he gazed down, admiring the streaks of white painting his skin, both from the hardening wax and his own release. 

_Shameful_. 

Wooyoung had just done something unspeakable in a place of worship, so why didn’t he feel any shame? He looked inside himself for a shred of guilt, a minutia of remorse, but all he felt was… sated. His shame was eclipsed with a comfortable exhaustion, nearly content under San’s luscious red gaze. Contentment was a strange thing to feel in the face of death, yet San’s presence felt inexplicably _safe_. 

San brushed his finger along Wooyoung’s stomach, collecting a drop of come and raising it to his mouth, sealing his lips around it with a satisfied moan. 

“Still so pure,” he praised. “I almost can’t bear to defile you.” 

“Defile…?” Wooyoung looked over to him, his brows furrowed in weary confusion. 

A wolfish grin danced across San’s lips. “That was only a taste.”

He lifted Wooyoung with a strong, careful grasp, placing him in front of the altar with his back to San. He could feel San’s body against him, the silk of his blouse cooling the burn of his skin, an even greater coolness at the back of his neck where San’s lips pressed a soft kiss. 

San slid a hand along the curve of Wooyoung’s spine, pushing him down gently until his chest met the fabric of the altar cloth, his backside indecently displayed before the rows of empty pews. San leaned over him, chest flush against Wooyoung’s back as he leaned down to mouth kisses up the curve of his shoulder, over his ear, pushing aside the strands of hair matted to his skin with sweat to kiss down the nape of his neck.

Wooyoung shivered at the touch of his lips as they traveled down his back, sucking softly down the ridges of his spine, his fingers ghosting along Wooyoung’s ribs until goosebumps formed. San’s kisses dappled lower until San was kneeling, sucking along Wooyoung’s tailbone with a light moan. His hands kneaded Wooyoung’s ass, spreading his cheeks apart until Wooyoung could feel San’s cold breath between them. 

Wooyoung didn’t have time to question it before San’s tongue was against him, flattening over his entrance in a long, vulgar drag. Wooyoung whimpered, scratching at the tablecloth to hold himself steady as his knees shook beneath him. 

“That’s… repulsive,” Wooyoung panted, though his cock was already hardening once again under San’s filthy ministrations.

“Mm, darling, you wouldn’t last a minute inside my head,” San mused, a puff of amused laughter escaping his lips as he sealed them into a wet kiss, flicking his tongue against Wooyoung’s rim before pressing inside, and Wooyoung let his forehead fall against the altar with a trembling moan. “This is quite tame—you have _much_ to learn.” 

If _this_ was what San considered tame, he was a little frightened at what the opposite could possibly entail. Though disgusted, Wooyoung couldn’t help the arousal swelling in his core, making his cock brush against the edge of the altar as it grew hard. He felt like a puppet under San’s control, invisible strings connecting him to San’s fingers, guiding his every move. His body didn’t feel like his own—the way his hips had rolled onto San’s fingers, the way his hands had threaded in San’s hair, the way his cock now twitched as San licked him in the most vile of places. 

San moaned against him, squeezing his fingers into Wooyoung’s cheeks as he spread them apart, dipping his tongue inside like his fingers had before. San played with his body in ways that Wooyoung had never even imagined were possible, too depraved for his chaste mind to comprehend. San’s kiss may not have been an opiate in a literal sense, but it was just as addicting, if not worse. Wooyoung had fallen into temptation this far already, and with the way San was devouring his purity, he was ready to fall much harder. 

San teased, lapped and sucked until Wooyoung was a whimpering mess on the altar, trying to silence his moans against the ivory cloth to no avail. Moan after moan spilled from his lips beyond his control, San’s tongue driving him nearly to tears as it pushed and curled inside of him, tasting him with a growl of delight as if indulging in a rare delicacy. Wooyoung’s cock dripped against the fabric at the edge of the altar, the slick precome oozing from the tip becoming smeared against it, tainting it with sin. 

San slowly rose from his knees, keeping his tongue pressed against Wooyoung’s skin as he licked up to his tailbone, up the column of his spine again until he was standing, kissing between Wooyoung’s shoulder blades before finally pulling back. 

There was a sharp sound, like metal scraping over stone, and San leaned down to fetch Wooyoung’s dagger from the floor. He held it delicately in his fingers, and Wooyoung squeezed his eyes shut as he prepared to feel its bite against his skin. Instead, he felt cold liquid dripping onto his tailbone, trickling down over his ass and between his legs. His eyes flew open, his neck craning to see San holding the blade to his own wrist, a dark stream of blood spilling from the wound and onto Wooyoung’s body. His heart seized with panic as San’s blood coated his skin, his eyes wide at the possible implications. 

“N-no, that—that’s going to—”

“Shh,” San hushed him, setting the knife aside. “It won’t, trust me.” 

The blade was taunting him, a silver beacon of salvation just within reach, but Wooyoung’s fingers didn’t budge, keeping their firm grip on the altar cloth. There was no use—he’d already failed twice, and San could have his head before his fingers even brushed the handle. It didn’t matter anymore, though. He’d already given up, succumbing to San’s temptations, trading his family’s honor for a merciful death—a passionate deliverance from a lifetime of suppressing his true desires.

San caressed his knuckles over Wooyoung’s spine, the icy drip from his wound slowing as it sealed over, tapering away as it healed in a matter of seconds. San’s hips pressed flush against Wooyoung’s ass, and Wooyoung could feel his hard cock dragging against his blood-slicked entrance, making him gasp. 

“Breathtaking,” San whispered, tickling his fingers over Wooyoung’s back. “Like a virgin sacrifice.” He smeared a cold droplet across his skin, painting him like a canvas. 

San pressed his lips between Wooyoung’s shoulder blades, mouthing up his neck, brushing aside his hair to kiss just beneath his ear. Wooyoung felt sharp fangs grazing his skin, lightly teasing the shell of his ear, and San gave a soft moan as the head of his cock teased against Wooyoung’s entrance. Wooyoung drew in an uneven breath. 

“Your sacrifice?” Wooyoung laughed softly. “You don’t seem like a man of faith.”

San hummed, the vibrations tickling Wooyoung’s neck. “I am… _very_ devout.” Wooyoung felt him smile as he slid his left hand over Wooyoung’s, trailing his fingers over the silver purity ring. “You impress me, love. I don’t smell an ounce of fear on you.”

Wooyoung could feel his own breath washing over the cloth beneath his lips, heating his already warm skin to an almost uncomfortable degree. He was panting, and his heartbeat was fast, but not from fear. He was helplessly aroused, driven mad by San’s cock teasing his skin, by the fangs ghosting over his neck. He had never wanted anything more than he wanted to feel San inside of him at that moment, to strip him of his remaining purity, to claim him on the altar as his own in a perfect act of sacrilege. 

“I told you—” Wooyoung turned to look at San over his shoulder with a smile. “I’m not afraid of dying.” 

“Most men who say that are liars or fools,” San breathed, his lips brushing the shell of Wooyoung’s ear. “And you are neither.” 

The hand over Wooyoung’s laced their fingers together, the fangs trailing across his skin coming to a stop as they settled over the spot where Wooyoung’s blood pulsed just beneath the surface. Wooyoung’s breath hitched in his throat, instinctively squeezing San’s hand as his fangs broke skin, his lips sealing around the bite at the same moment he pushed his cock in. 

Wooyoung cried out, clawing at the tablecloth with his free hand, which San immediately grabbed with his own, pinning Wooyoung’s hands to the table with both of his. San moaned as he sucked around the bite, the euphoric numbness creeping beneath Wooyoung’s skin, the heat spreading like a dull flame. His entire body thrummed with sensation, filled to the brink as San pushed his cock all the way inside, the sting lost somewhere in all the bliss. 

“I want to taste you while you’re still my pure little lamb,” San murmured, dragging his tongue along Wooyoung’s neck, drawing the blood from his veins with a hungry kiss. It was as though every drop of reason had been sucked from Wooyoung’s mind, leaving him nothing but a savage animal athirst for San’s touch. 

San’s icy skin did little to cool the fire coursing through his veins, his body alight from the inside out as San slowly rolled his hips, forcing a desperate whine from Wooyoung’s throat, high and unsteady. He felt full, so much so that San’s fingers couldn’t even compare. Wooyoung couldn’t help the wanton moans that tumbled from his lips as San let out a deep growl against his neck, sucking hard against his skin. 

“Ah—” 

“Fuck,” he hissed, pulling away suddenly. “Your blood is maddening.”

San’s fingers tensed around Wooyoung’s, nearly clawing into the table, as if restraining himself from tipping over the edge into something darker. His breaths were shallow, heavy, contrasted against the careful way he moved inside of Wooyoung—almost too careful. 

He moved gently, with smooth, slow rolls of his hips that had Wooyoung whimpering beneath him. Euphoria rushed through Wooyoung’s body in waves, expanding through his limbs and warming every inch of him, but he couldn’t help but crave _more_. 

“S-San, I—I need—”

San’s hands were nearly crushing around his own. “Tell me.”

Wooyoung was almost disgusted at how easily he gave in, pliant in the palm of San’s hand, relinquishing the last of his pride, the last of his devotion. San had dangled temptation in front of him, beckoning him to let go and succumb to all his sinful desires. It felt better than he could have ever imagined to abandon the rules, to finally get what _he_ wanted—and what he wanted was for San to completely ruin him.

Wooyoung tipped his head to look over his shoulder, glancing at San through glazed, determined eyes. “Fuck me.”

San broke into a wicked, crazed smile, blood smeared across his chin and dripping from his lips, his fangs stained a deadly shade of red to match that of his predatory irises. He looked more monstrous than ever before—dangerous, feral; like he wanted to devour Wooyoung whole. 

“Where’s your piety now?” San snarled, giving a rough snap of his hips. 

“F-fuck, San—”

San leaned in, drawing his tongue across the shell of Wooyoung’s ear, his voice low and gritted. “I loved seeing you on your knees, but you’re even prettier like this.” 

Wooyoung cried out as San fucked him hard, his thrusts deep and merciless, each breath a vocalized growl against Wooyoung’s ear. Wooyoung’s ribs ached from the pressure of being crushed against the table, his lungs gasping for air, but his pain was swallowed by the feeling of San’s cock plunging into him, making his legs tremble and his body erupt with heat. 

Wooyoung’s cock dripped pathetically against the altar, the leaking head smearing precome against the cloth, making him whimper at what little stimulation it gave. His cock hadn’t been touched since San had his mouth on it, yet he was embarrassingly hard, throbbing with need each time San fucked into him. San’s blood was inside of him, too, foul and slippery, yet it only served to surge his arousal to the point of madness.

Wooyoung’s knees felt weak beneath him, his body only kept upright by the weight of San’s hands pinning him against the table. The vile sounds of San’s cock slamming into him rang out in the still air of the chapel, harmonizing with Wooyoung’s depraved moans to form a wretched symphony, resounding off the stone walls. 

Sweat beaded on his skin, soaking into the tablecloth. His mind was clouded with pleasure, eclipsing all thoughts of his shattered faith, the beliefs he had defiled so carelessly. His whole life had been defined by his religion, so carefully procured around it. He was a hunter—devout, faithful—and yet it only took one convincing vampire to tear it all to the ground. And, for some reason, he couldn’t find it within him to care—not with the way San’s cock slammed into him, depriving him of any thoughts except bliss. 

“More,” Wooyoung choked out. “Harder—”

“Fuck,” San spat, gripping Wooyoung’s hand with such force he thought his fingers might break, snapping his hips forward in a rough, unforgiving pace. The candles dotting the corners of the altar shook from the force, one tipping over and rolling onto the stone floor. 

Wooyoung’s eyes went unfocused, the dim light of the candles lining the apse in front of him blurring into a fuzzy, golden haze. Drool pooled at the corners of his mouth, dribbling down his chin onto the tablecloth, joining the slick mess of sweat and come smearing across his stomach. 

Unrestrained whines spilled from his lips, incoherent pleads getting lost in the tangle of his pathetic cries and coming out as breathless mumbles. The intense high grew inside of him each time San’s hips slammed forward against his own, fucking him so deep he felt as though he might snap in half, but it still wasn’t enough. He needed _more_ , he needed—

 _“Ah!”_ he cried as San’s fangs pierced his skin.

A ravenous growl vibrated against his neck that Wooyoung felt all the way down his spine, a fresh wave of intoxicating numbness creeping down his shoulder. San sucked and laved his tongue in lavish drags over the wound, tasting every drop as it spilled over his flesh, drinking insatiably as he snapped his hips.

“San, please—” 

Wooyoung was so _close_ , so delirious with need he could feel his eyes start to roll back, his back arching and writhing beneath San’s weight as he fucked the sanctity from his body, draining it like the blood from his veins. 

San pulled his fangs from Wooyoung’s skin, his raptured panting loud in his ear. “Come.”

It only took a few more deep thrusts before Wooyoung spilled over, a desperate cry tearing from his throat as San fucked him through his climax. Wooyoung’s body tensed like a bow, trembling at the shocks of pleasure that wracked through his core, his untouched cock twitching against the altar as he came for a second time. 

San’s hips continued to slam into his, his frenzied thrusts in an erratic rhythm as he reached his tipping point. Wooyoung nearly screamed at San’s unrelenting pace, his body shaking and convulsing from overstimulation against the ruined altar, his fingers clenching against San’s until his knuckles went white. Just when it was almost too much, San’s hips went still, burying himself to the hilt, his cock flexing inside as he spilled into Wooyoung with a feral groan. 

After a few breathless moments, San carefully unlaced their fingers, trailing them up Wooyoung’s arms as he rose, the cool silk of his blouse just barely parting from Wooyoung’s back. San pressed his lips against Wooyoung’s neck as he slowly pulled out, leaving behind an indescribable emptiness, followed by a wet, viscous drip between his legs, and the sensation of San’s slow, lingering kisses mouthing down his spine. 

He felt the pressure of San’s chest again as he leaned down, pressing flush against his back to brush the tip of his nose against the nape of Wooyoung’s neck. Wooyoung trembled beneath him, exhaustion wracking his spent body, succumbing to the numbness flooding through him. He forgot for a moment that the cold chest pressing against him was a vampire’s—one who Wooyoung’s very life rested in the hands of. Right now, he could only feel another body against his, cold yet comforting, a heavy blanket to soothe his aching limbs.

San’s lips parted from his neck, and Wooyoung could hear the faint scrape of metal somewhere beside him, but he didn’t turn to look. San’s hand snaked around his torso, trailing icy fingertips along his jaw, pausing beneath his chin. He tipped Wooyoung’s head up with the gentlest nudge, and Wooyoung could feel San’s breath washing over his neck, sending chills down his spine. Wooyoung was pliant against his touch, a fuzzy, dream-like haze enveloping his mind. 

The sharp edge of his own dagger kissed his throat, and Wooyoung let his eyes drift shut.

“As promised, a merciful death…” San whispered against his ear, dragging the blade across Wooyoung’s flesh in one fluid motion. “...my love.”

The blade stung as it seared across his skin, forcing a cough to sputter through him, burning as it reached his throat. His eyes opened on instinct, just enough to see the blood pooling against the altar’s pure-white cloth, staining it in sickening shades of crimson. 

He felt the chilled air where San’s body pulled away from him, then hands guiding his body upwards, lifting him with ease onto the altar. His head fell back against the table, and when he looked up, he could see the effulgent glow of the moonlight washing through the cathedral’s stained glass windows, accompanying the candlelight to illuminate his deathbed. 

San’s touch brought him back to awareness, although reality faded away around him, numbing the searing pain on his throat to something like euphoria. The embrace of death, perhaps. Blood poured from his throat, soaking the cloth below like a warm bath. His body trembled, his skin cold as the life drained from his veins, but he couldn’t feel a thing. 

San’s fingers traced over his torso, floating along the surface of his skin just below the navel, marred with ivory wax, slick with sweat and blood, defiled before him. 

“Whoever sows to please their flesh…” He trailed his fingers upwards, ghosting across the laceration spilling ribbons of blood from his neck. “...from the flesh will reap destruction."

Wooyoung coughed, a croak weakly escaping his throat. 

San looked down at him with sympathetic eyes as he thumbed over the rosary, caressing it softly in his hand. “Whoever sows to please the Spirit...” 

He released the necklace, setting it back down gingerly against Wooyoung’s sternum. He leaned over Wooyoung’s body, lifting the silver dagger, which glistened in the dim light with a thick coating of blood. San dangled his other hand just over Wooyoung’s parted lips as he choked out coughs between soft, tearless sobs. He pressed the blade against his own hand, slicing across the lines of his palm.

“...from the Spirit will reap eternal life.”

From Wooyoung’s glazed, unfocused eyes, he could just make out blood spilling from the wound as it dribbled down San’s arm, dripping onto Wooyoung’s lips. It was deathly cold, like the rest of him, tasting of acrid metal and rot against his tongue. 

He slid his gaze up, searching for comfort in those ruby eyes, but all he could see was the moonlight as it prismed through the stained glass, depicting the god he had forsaken, beliefs he had desecrated, the faith he had abandoned.

The _clack_ of heels against stone grew distant, leaving Wooyoung alone on the altar, his own blood seeping beneath his head, spilling over the edges onto the floor below. The rosary seemed to laugh at him, mocking his plight as it gleamed a contemptuous silver against his chest. He couldn’t move, nor could he breathe, but could still feel the cold streak of a tear as it fell down his cheek.

“Goodnight, Wooyoung.”

**. . . and shall desire to die, and death shall flee from them.**

**Revelation 9:6**

**Author's Note:**

> star (yunsans): when you write a pwp but accidentally create 300 years worth of backstory haha oops. also I recommend listening to [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FoCG-WNsZio) while imagining the end scene it’s haunting
> 
> rinji (atinystarlight): san rly said the rosary stays on during sex 
> 
> also you can follow us on twitter @ yunsannies and yungwooyoung


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